The Mystery of The Masked Maid
by AmeliaHei
Summary: Another story for Hercule Poirot and Captian Hastings, about a close friend of theirs who was mysteriusly murdered. Is the story as simpled as is seemed? Who pulls the trigger? And who wears a mask?


The mystery of the masked maid

Written by Amy Hei

 **Hercule Poirot, Captain Arthur Hastings, Chief Inspector Japp belong to Agatha Christie.**

"Thank be," I said, sinking into the armchair after an unpleasant dinner party, "It was finally over. This party was an absurd mess." Sure enough, my friend Poirot and I have just returned from a party held by Mr. Frank Mooreson, a rich businessman, who used to be a dear mate of mine. It is his fortieth birthday and he invited friends to celebrate "the beginning of the new decade of his life". However, during the party, Mrs. Mooreson 's sister, Mrs. Hugh, had an argument with her husband. The argument attracted almost everyone and left the rest of the guests awkward and embarrassed. Mr. Mooreson looked unhappy indeed, but he seemed to take it.

I stared at my little friend and his egg-shaped head. He was arranging his sleeves absently as our landlady placed the evening post on the table. I reached for the one on the very top and opened it. "Why, Poirot, Frank wrote to invite us to his mason for a week or two." I exclaimed. However, Poirot did not seem any excited. "Who is Frank, _mon ami_?" he asked, reaching for a cigarette and lighting it. "Frank Mooreson, of course, the host of the party." I said, glad to know something he didn't. "Ah, the poor man who held the party and had a great brushy lot of mustache?" Poirot was clearly losing interest.

"He lives near London, you know." I said, turning the letter over, "He also said something about consulting you, about his property, I suppose." Poirot sat a bit straighter, however, he kept his freshly learnt English modesty. "Poirot is not a good money manager, _mon ami_." He said, "How can a businessman know less than Poirot in terms of money?" I shrugged and tossed the letter aside. "You will go, won't you?" I asked. "it's next Friday, we'll need to go by train." Poirot beamed. "Bon." He said.

However, this nice wish did not last till the following Friday. The day before that, letters came with the morning newspaper which was splashed with the new front page of ' _Millionaire 's Ddeath, Wwhose Mmeans tThis Ttime_ '. Mrs. Mooreson wrote to grieve us with the news of Frank Mooreson 's death. The letter went straight to Poirot, leaving my little friend frowning deeply. "Ms. Lemon, book tickets to Weybridge, please." Said Poirot, "My little gray cells tell me there is something odd about this case."

After we arrived at the Mooreson Mason, Iit hads gone dark by the time we arrived at the Mooreson Mason. Mrs. Mooreson was crying, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, and Mr. Hugh was there, obviously upset and mournful. A group of policemen circled the mason, and our dear Chief Inspector Japp was there, clearly giving orders. "Hello, Poirot, Captain Hastings." He called, striding towards us after spotting us. "This case simply has to be a murder," Japp said placidly. "Mooreson died right away after having a cup of tea with white arsenic in it,. eEven before they could call for doctors.s he died right away."

Poirot rose an eyebrow. "You seem to be very sure, Chief Inspector. If you please, I would like to see the corpse of Frank Mooreson."

Soon we were brought to the body. My poor mate was lying there, rigid and pale, utterly lifeless. Poirot stepped forward, examining his lips and mouth. "He wasn't forced to drink this cup of tea." Poirot said, "In fact, he drank it ofin himself, for no resistance his tongue seemed to be."

"It's not possible that he killed himself, Poirot." I argued. "He _wrote_ to tell us to come, and he couldn't possibly kill himself after that."

"Sure, Hastings, I mean not that he committed suicide." Said Poirot. "I mean the tea he had, it must be handed to him by the one who he really trusted."

Japp nodded. "Right, we've just heard that Mooreson asked for the tea himself."

Poirot frowned. "It was _arranged_ like a suicide, isn't it?" He said. "However, one does not call Poirot here to find out how he died."

"Exactly," Said Japp, crossing his arms and looking severe. "The maids and both Mrs. Mooreson and Mr. Hugh decided that the dead did not seem upset or even unusual before his death. And I suppose he didn't put white arsenic in _for fun_."

Poirot nodded. Then he made a gesture to me. "Come, Hastings, let us meet dear Madame Mooreson. I need to have a little talk with her."

As we stepped into the living room, Mrs. Mooreson, a beautiful woman in black dress and black vail, greeted us. Mr. Hugh, looking grim and mournful, was also there. He was a handsome man in his thirties, and he greeted us with perfect manners though it was obvious that he was extremely worried.

"Hello, M. Poirot, Captain Hastings. Thank you for coming for my poor husband. Feel free to have tea." Said Mrs. Mooreson.

Poirot nodded and took a seat. I, too, fetched a chair and sat down. The cakes and fruits were fresh, however, no one seemed willing to touch them, let alone having the mood to enjoy them.

"So, Madame Mooreson. May I ask some questions about your husband's death?" Asked Poirot.

"Sure, M. Poirot, this is your job, and I understand." Answered Mrs. Mooreson.

"Madame, did your husband, seem to you, any upset or nervous before his death?"

"No, _Monsieur_. In fact, he was quite glad that day. He had a business dinner with a shareholder of his company and was satisfied with the deal they made. Then he went into his study for light reading and asked for a cup of tea from Ella,. aAnd then—-" Her voice faltered, and she fell back to sobs.

Poirot sighed sympathetically, and then looked at Mr. Hugh.

"Excuse my disgrace, _Monsieur_ , but you are?"

"Oh, I am Lewis Hugh, and, well, Matilda's husband. Matilda is Mrs. Mooreson 's younger sister, you know, and I was supposed to be here with Matilda for a month on holiday. Frank invited us here."

"And where is Madame Hugh now?"

"Long story." Mr. Hugh scratched his chin, looking troubled. "You were there in the party last week, weren't you? Matilda argued with me and left us to go on holiday on her own. She was acting strange that day, and, uh, I'm not sure I know where she is now."

"What do you do, Mr. Hugh?"

"I used to be an actor, so was Matilda. We met during a world tour, and fell in love and got married. Now we do some play write and stage design, but I am no longer young enough to act. Matilda still acts, and trust me, she is a star."

"So, Mr. Hugh, do you usually have arguments?"

"No! Matilda and I always respected each other. But that time, the night at the party she didn't hold her tantrum at all." Mr. Hugh looked confused.

"I suppose that Matilda is acting rather foolish these days. First arguing without reasons in Frank's party, then turning the house around. Now that poor Frank is dead, and for God's sake, sorry she will be." Sobbed Mrs. Mooreson. Then she turned to Poirot. "M. Poirot, I have never been close with my husband,. bBut after years of living together I do knowunderstand thathim. mMy husband was a careful, clever sort of person,. aAnd he wouldn't get into trouble so easily. Nobody hates him, as far as I know, and certainly nobody would kill him for it."

Poirot nodded thoughtfully. Then he stood up. "Madame Mooreson, will you please show us around this mason?"

"Yes, as a guest, you should be showned around." Mrs. Mooreson said.

I stood up and nodded to Mr. Hugh, and followed the two of them out of the room. Mrs. Mooreson showed perfect manners a host should have, introducing rooms and introducingexplaining paintings and sculptures. When we went out to have a whole view of the mason on the emerald lawn, Mrs. Mooreson hesitated, and spoke with a rather nervous voice. "M. Poirot, it is possible that you will stay till the day after tomorrow, when Frank's will would be announced, isn't it?"

"Certainly, Madame, your husband had invited me here, so it is Poirot's duty to find out the murderer." Poirot sounded confident.

Mrs. Mooreson heaved a breath in relieve.. "Thank you so much, M. Poirot. God knows what I shall do without your help. I myself is capable of nothing really. I am sure I will pay you back if I get , you know, his property."

Poirot thought for a moment and said suddenly: "Madame, could you please tell me about yourself?"

Mrs. Mooreson seemed surprised, but agreed. "I was born in a rich but certainly not noble family. Both my father and my grandfather were dentists, and so my maiden surname is well known in the village, connected with toothache and teeth. However, my father wasn't wise enough to send me to college, and I became his nurse in his surgeon when I was in high school and talked me into being a nurse afterwards. Then I was married to Frank Mooreson, who was, at that time, a bank worker who knows a lot about stock. At that time, everyone thought a nurse and a bank jack was to fit each other, but heavens, no. He was an M.A. from university but I never went to college. I hadve my ideas of living a quiet life in the country side but his zeal for business stopped us from doing so."

"As you know, I have a sister, Matilda, and she was adopted from an orphanage when I was six, and she was two. Matilda and I were completely different. She was beautiful, grown to be the Anne Boleyn and Juliet on stage, so naturally, Matilda argued with father when she was persuaded to be a nurse, and she went to a group of actresses, and devoted to plays. Father was angry of course, and so cancelled her name off his will. She answered this act by abandoning our surname and changing it back to her own. But still, she loved me like a sister, and I, too love her dearly."

Poirot blinked, thought for a moment and smiled. "You have been most kind, Madame."

As Poirot and I were walking back into the mason and heading for our rooms, I can't help but told him. "Poor Mrs. Mooreson, she won't get much from Frank. Frank never liked her, and he was sick of talking about her in front of us. Poor woman, for Frank never had any tenderness in his life for anything except for stocks."

Poirot smiled and laid his eyes on the dreamy color of the dusk. "One is always different facing life and death, remember this, Hastings." I stared at him, full of questions, but he spoke no more.

The evening in the mason was inundated with an uncomfortable silence. Mrs. Mooreson did not say much, and Mr. Hugh wasn't in the mood of joking. Everyone was eating from his own plate, and we guests, Japp included, dare not even make a sound.

However, the silence has been broken once by the maid, Jane. As she offered us jelly for dessert, she spilled a spoonful on the table cloth. Sure enough, Mrs. Mooreson blamed her for it. "Jane, what is the matter with you these days? This wasn't the first time! You should be careful next time, dear."

Jane, who was pretty and in her thirties, mumbled a tiny "sorry" and left the table. Then, she left the room quickly and closed the door behind her.

Poirot lifted his head for the first time during this dinner. He tilted his head as if wondering about something and then said. "Madame Mooreson, would you please tell me about Jane?" Madame Mooreson sighed, and started speaking.

"Jane was a clever girl, and she came from my parents' side. Her mother worked for mine, and she has worked for my family ever since she was twelve. She was four years younger than me, same age as Matilda, and we played together. Matilda and she sounded alike, looked alike, and used to be good friends. However, mother sent her to serve me after I was married when I was twenty, and she worked here ever since. She has never been so clumsy before, But just these few days she broke glasses and spilled soup. Heaven knows what happened to her. I guess Frank's death frightened her. Poor girl." Mrs. Mooreson sighed and started to dab her eyes again.

The dinner was over.

The second day, Chief Inspector Japp came for a search of evidences. He ordered his men to search in every room and dustbin to look for the bottle of white arsenic, which was bought, as is found, by a gardener, Bob Taylor, to mix some weed killer, but was stolen by someone else.

However, Poirot focused on another matter. He was questioning a young maid, Ella, who brought the tea for Mr. Mooreson.

"I have been questioned a hundred times, sir, and it ain't me who killed Master. It ain't going to do me any good. I didn't even _take_ the tea to him, I just got the _order_ from him and _that's all_!"

"So, mademoiselle, could you tell me what exactly happened?"

"Well, Master was in his study for some reading, I suppose. I was chopping branches in the back gardens, his study looks out to the back garden, you know. I was doing my job, and he opened the window and called me to bring a cup of tea for him, and he said, do bring the sugar pot, and that's what I did. I got the tea, got the pot, and on my way there, Miss Jane stopped me and said the front garden was a terrible mess. She said she just came from the front garden and she had mud on her hand and dress. She told me to handle it at once, and she will bring the tea to Master. I was supposed to do all the garden works that day, you know. So, I went to the garden and left the tray to her." Said poor Ella, her breathes shaky. "You are not going to believe me, are you? Oh Lord, I am going to be hanged."

"I do trust you," Poirot soothed. "now may I ask some questions, mademoiselle?"

Ella looked up and nodded.

"Does your master put any milk or sugar into his tea usually?"

"Oh yes, sir." Answered Ella. "Master's got a sweet tooth."

"Then, mademoiselle, was the front garden nicely arranged the time you left it?"

"Perfectly, sir. I couldn't even imagine why it has gone bad so quickly. Probably dogs ruined it."

"Where was Mademoiselle Jane when you met that day?"

"The corridor to the Front Hall, sir."

Poirot touched his chin thoughtfully. Then he smiled politely and said to the maid. "Thank you, Mademoiselle Ella, you have been most helpful."

As I was wondering what exactly made Poirot satisfied, we headed through the corridor and marched for the study of Mr. Mooreson. Poirot was walking rather fast, his walking stick clicking the floor and leather shoes pacing silently. When we arrived at the beautifully carved wooden door, Poirot was panting. I pushed the door open, and Chief Inspector Japp came in sight.

"Hello, Poirot, Captain Hastings, came for a few clues, are we?" Chief Inspector Japp seemed glad.

"Nice to see you, Chief Inspector, I have just come to infer whether our dear Ella is telling the truth."

I turn to the window. A beautifully mowed lawn lay under bushes of flowers and shaped rosebushes. A thick layer of ivy climbed up and hid the traces of the mason visible from here. Honeysuckles flew around, having their treat in the blooming petals. Sure enough, Ella would hear the call of her master simply if she was chopping any branches.

Poirot nodded. "Ella could not have lied about this." Then he turned his head to the desk. A tray, a teapot, a single spoon and an opened sugar pot was on the table. Poirot examined them carefully, and frowned.

"Hastings, did you notice this tiny flick of dirt inside the sugar pot?" Poirot sked me, pointing his hand to the fat sugar jar.

I looked inside. Sure enough, it was a bit of dirt, that certainly should not appear in a sugar pot. "Somebody must have dropped it in while the put sugar in." I said.

"No, Hastings, you wouldn't pour sugar in the pot every time you have tea, for most of the time the pot contains a lot."

"Do you mean that Ella did not _open_ the pot and only _took_ it from the kitchen?"

"Sure, Hastings." Poirot smiled. "And if I may guess, Chief Inspector, the white arsenic powder was found here in this pot?"

"Exactly, Poirot." Said Japp.

Suddenly, a young man in police uniform rushed inside. "We found it, the white arsenic bottle, Chief Inspector Japp, sir. It was in Mistress Mooreson 's drawer, half used and with no fingerprint on it."

Both Japp and Poirot rushed quickly outside the study. Japp followed the young police officer down the stairs and headed for the bedroom. Poirot, however, stood on his heels and lowered his head. "Tell me Hastings, why isn't there any fingerprint on the bottle?" He asked.

"Probably she cleaned it for good, after poisoning." I answered, not paying much attention. In fact, I was shocked that Mrs. Mooreson would be brave enough to kill somebody.

"Who do you mean, Hastings?"

"Well, Mrs. Mooreson, of course. They found the white arsenic in her drawer, didn't they?"

Poirot did not answer. He led our way to Mrs. Mooreson 's, where the poison was found. Even before we reached it, we heard shouting and arguing exploding the room.

"Why on earth would I want to make myself a widow?" Shouted Mrs. Mooreson.

"For anything. Money, arguments, whatever." Japp said in a placid voice.

"I have enough property, all my parents' money wet to me." Mrs. Mooreson snapped, "I can quit work and have the fun to burn my money, why would I want more?"

"Having too much money is never a problem." Said Japp coolly. "No fingerprints, alright. We will find other evidence that shows you are the murderer."

Poirot rushed inside awkwardly. "Stop, Chief Inspector, please. Without killing Mr. Mooreson, she could still lead quite a comfortable life. Now if anyone please tell me the exact place where police officers found the poison?"

"In the drawer under the mirror, sir." Said one of the young inspectors. "The one unlocked."

Poirot rose an eyebrow. "The one _unlocked_?"

"Strange, isn't it, sir. Maybe she just forgot to lock it."

"I didn't-" Mrs. Mooreson started, but then sighed heavily, frustrated. "Fine, do whatever you want with me. For God's sake, I'm nothing but a liability and a cashbox for Matilda now."

"A cashbox?" Poirot questioned. "Why a cashbox, Madame?"

"You will hang me for I killed my Frank, and I leave everything to Matilda. Simple, isn't it?"

Poirot suddenly looked at me. His eyes were glowing alarmingly and something in his eyes tells me that he found out something, something important. I stared at him, but he just shook his head, and signaled to tell me later. Then Jane came and announced lunch was ready, guests started walking back down.

"What a morning." I heard Japp whisper as we walked down the stairs. And I do agree with him.

A minute later, all were gathered around the table. The lunch began. Mrs. Mooreson, looking rather injured, refused to have Japp around the table to eat. And like the day before, the meal went on, lack of conversations or comments, and only the old grandfather clock and knives and forks were audible. But then the silence was broken by a bang of the door, and a modernly dressed young woman with a case rushed in, breathless.

Mrs. Mooreson was shocked, she stood up and exclaimed. "Oh Lord, Matilda!"

However, the young lady took no notice of it. She went straight pass the table, handed her case to Jane, who was waiting us, and spoke. "Help me get dressed, Miss Mat-, Miss Jane, I mean." Jane nodded and left the room ahead of Mrs. Matilda, still carrying the suitcase.

A moment later Mrs. Matilda Hugh was back, followed by Jane, and both were looking pale and tired. As soon as Mrs. Hugh returned, she stood there, and burst into tears.

"It's all my fault. I was supposed to stay, and, oh my bad temper!" She almost wailed. "I shouldn't have left so unreasonable, I should have stayed here!"

Mr. Hugh left the chair. "It has nothing to do with you, my dear." He said, taking her in his arms and wiping her tears. "Come on, eat something." He then drew a chair out for her.

Jane offered a meal for her, and the lunch went on, motionlessly.

The next day was the funeral. All of Frank Mooreson 's friends and relatives came to say this final goodbye. Me and Poirot, all in black, watched the crowd came and went, finally the Hughs and Mrs. Mooreson was there.

"Hastings, is this Matilda Hugh a good friend of Mr. Mooreson?"

"No, I'm sure. I know every friend of Frank, and he never mentioned her once."

"So why is she wailing like this?"

This did attract me, sure enough. Why is Mrs. Hugh so sad over someone who might as well be a stranger?

"Alas, this is getting rather interesting."

During the afternoon, Frank Mooreson 's lawyer came over to announce the will. He was a tall man with a single spectacle, and he seemed to recognize me. "John Steward," As he introduced himself. Then he led the way to the library and took a seat near the table. The rest of us gathered around, including the Hughs, Mrs. Mooreson, Poirot and me. Jane was also there, serving and waiting with a lowered head. She seemed to be quieter after Mrs. Hugh's return, though I couldn't think of any reasons of it.

John Steward cleared his throat to catch everyone's attention. "I, the lawyer of Mr. Frank Mooreson, will now announce the will of Mr. Mooreson." Then he took an envelope out from his bag and rose it up. It was sealed with sealing wax, and pointing at the envelope he said, "This is the latest will from Mr. Mooreson. It was sent to me five days before his death. In the coming letter, I was told not to open his will until today. Now I will open it."

Then he fished out a paper knife and started cutting through the wax. Finally, he took a thin piece of paper out of the envelope, and read. "I, Frank Kristoffer Mooreson, leave all my property, including my mason and my bank account, to my beloved wife, Elanor Mooreson, and God bless her. Pateat universis per praesentes, signature-"

"That is simply not possible." Said Mrs. Mooreson, shivering but firm. "He didn't love me enough to leave all money to me. He also planned to raise a foundation with his property, he said to me once, so there must be a flaw."

Steward scratched his chin. Then he raised his head. "You are right, certainly, Frank did tell me about it before, and quite often. There was also some description on his last will. And, this will was not written by him, not personally, for the signature was _printed_ , someone faked it."

Mrs. Hugh gasped. "You, you couldn't, Elanor, why would you kill Frank, you have got all daddy's money! You cruel, evil wife of Frank's!"

Mrs. Mooreson paled. "How could you say this to your sister? Why-why shall I kill Frank? He is my husband!"

"You faked the will, the poison was found in your room, your drawer, wasn't it?"

Mrs. Mooreson trembled violently. "M. Poirot, sir, you must have realized that I'm not the killer, haven't you?"

Poirot stood up. "Mademoiselle Hugh, would you be so kind to tell me that who informed you the position of where the poison was found?"

Mrs. Hugh paled. "Well, Lewis told me, didn't you Lewis?"

Mr. Hugh shook his head. "Well, I didn't, I was afraid that it might upset you."

Mrs. Hugh seemed nervous. "Then it must be Jane."

Jane shook her head too, violently. "I didn't even know any of these!"

Poirot smiled. "Now the answer has showed itself, hasn't it?"

Everyone stared at him. "You got the answer, Poirot, haven't you?" Asked Japp.

Poirot nodded, pushed his chair back and started pacing back and forth.

"First, I need to assure some important matter. Miss Jane, you used to have a sister, a _twin_ sister, don't you?"

Jane looked surprised. "Yes, sir. But she was sent away to an orphanage. My parents were both servants, they couldn't afford to have two children."

"And where was your sister adopted, Mrs. Mooreson?"

"In the orphanage of course, the only one in town. I've heard once that Matilda was the only one of that age."

"There, everything is fixed. Shall I begin?" Poirot kept smiling.

"This case began a week ago, when our Mr. Mooreson had his party for birthday. During the party, Mrs. Hugh, you argued with your husband, did you not?"

"Yes, I did."

"It was a horrible argument, is it not? But what are the arguing over? We do not know. This argument was simply arranged, or started, by Mrs. Hugh, to show everyone that, you had an argument, and decided to leave. And then you left, at least, everyone else thought you left."

"You exchanged your role with Jane, and sent her out for the so-called holiday as Matilda Hugh, and you yourself stayed behind, being Jane. You see, Jane said she have got a twin sister, and Matilda was adopted from the only orphanage around here. They were sisters, twins. Look at their large green eyes, same high cheekbones, same blond hair, certainly they would not be found out."

Jane nodded slowly. "I do admit, sir."

"Then, Mrs. Hugh, you stole the white arsenic from the gardener, and started the act. First, you destroyed the garden Mademoiselle Ella arranged, and went inside to inform her, to get the tea tray to yourself. In order not to alarm the other maids in the kitchen, you found a corner, opened the sugar pot lid, and slipped some white arsenic in, and held the tray to Mr. Mooreson. He drank the tea with the sugar, in fact, white arsenic, and was cruelly murdered."

Jane stared at Mrs. Hugh wide-eyed. Mr. Hugh's hand clasped to his mouth. Mrs. Mooreson stared desperately at Poirot, muttering soundlessly.

"The second day, you cleaned the bottle up and tried to put it in Mrs. Mooreson 's room while you clean her room for her. However, you found the drawers all locked except for one, so you put it there. And fled the room."

"And the most important part, you sent the will to Mr. Steward, did you not, Mrs. Hugh?"

"I killed Frank, and then left all the money to my darling sister? Am I a saint?" Asked Mrs. Hugh, crossed. "No one will believe your stupid words, trust me."

"No, indeed, you are in fact, sure, that people would find out that the will is faked, so all the evidence was dropped to Mrs. Mooreson, and that you could get her money as well as Mr. Mooreson 's money for her!" Said Poirot, his voice stern.

Mr. Hugh gasped. "Matilda! Is what he said true?"

Mrs. Hugh gulped, her face pale, her hands trembling. "Yes, and I am really sorry, Lewis. It's just unfair, how mom and dad left all money to Elanor-"

"I have lost what you haven't, Matilda! I gave up my loved job, my education, my choice for lover! Now you have killed my husband for it."

"Now, Mrs. Hugh, you had better follow me follow me to the police station." Said Japp, looking annoyed. "You won again, Poirot."

"Sure thing, dear Chief Inspector Japp." Poirot smirked.

The following day, Mr. Steward came again, only to announce the real will, which, in the end, left two thousand pounds to a charity for new businessmen, and all the rest to Mrs. Mooreson.

"This is a happy end, isn't it, Poirot? I asked, glad that this was over.

Poirot, however, sighed. "No, Hastings. I'd rather go back to the time when no one was killed. That would be a little too much, of course."

Sure so. Happy a family might have been, but this happiness is always destroyed by the sense of greediness. But justice itself is a kind of solace, for all who lost their love.

THE END


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